Gathering of the RoundTable
by ClumsyFiend
Summary: A story of how the knights met and what happend to them growing up. (Set between where Lancelot leaves Sarmatia and the 15 years later scene)
1. The first Day

Disclaimer: First and foremost, I do not own the characters of the legend. Summary: The story begins after Lancelot leaves home and illustrates what happens afterwards as the members of the round-table meet and begin their friendship. Note: Hi all, this is my first fan fiction so any constructive criticism is welcome along with any praise. I noticed that there weren't any stories out there of the actual meeting and what happens to them growing up so I thought I'd give it a shot. Enjoy!  
  
Chapter 1- The First Day  
  
"How long will we be gone?"  
  
"Fifteen years. Not counting the months it will take to reach your post."  
  
It was at that when it occurred to the boy that this could be the last time he would see Sarmatia. The last time he'd be able to feel its soft grass on his skin or see the sunset across the plains. Grass and sunsets are not only of this land, though home is what makes it all so precious. He frowned as this thought crossed his mind. As he rode away with a group of strangers, his family and friends stood in the distance becoming little more than a memory. Nothing bothered him as much as that, to forget and leave his loved ones behind. He turned back and took a glance at them that could very well be his last. There they were as they always had been. "Lancelot! Lancelot!" he could hear their voices carried by a swift east wind, calling his name. He looked away at last closing his eyes, remembering the moment. Taking a deep breath, he drew courage from everything around him, his horse which diligently bore him, the soft glow of the sun glistening against the water, his will to return home again. Lancelot opened his eyes and did not turn back. He would not linger in the past for ahead of him was the biggest task he would have to face. Though the path that lay before him was long and treacherous, he would not face it alone.  
  
A slight chill filled the air as they made their way westward along a wooded road. They had been traveling for hours on end. Lancelot hadn't spoken since they left the village save a few words. There was not much to say but when he did speak, he spoke with confidence and integrity. He rode silently at the back of the group with his head held high. He was not afraid of the hard work ahead, nor was he intimidated by those around him. Light began to fade as the golden sun began to sink behind the hills. Vivid shades of blue and purple filled sky as stars rub their eyes and come out after a days rest to light the darkening world. Gently, he pulled the reigns of the great beast that shook its head and came to a stop. Lancelot stroked the silky mane of his black horse as he found himself, lost in the moment, gazing at the horizon. Releasing the reins, he brought up one hand to cover his eyes from the still bright circle in the western sky. This truly was a sight to behold. He, Lancelot, who had never ventured very far from home, was now on the side of a mountain watching the sun set as he had never seen before. Compelled by the adventurous feeling that was now kindled, the edges of his lips curled in a grin that was the first of many.  
"Hey! Don't fall behind now." A voice prompted impatiently. The boy scowled as he snapped back to reality. Reluctantly, he picked up the ropes again and gave the horse a little kick. He soon caught up to the rest of the group which he realized, had stopped as if in a favor to wait for him. "Learn to keep up or you're going to get left behind one day." The man said dryly,"People won't always pity those who stray." Annoyed, Lancelot wanted to argue but nodded instead. Time would go faster if they were all on good terms.  
  
Night came quickly as a cool veil of dark blue covered the land. The cold air was refreshing against the skin of the weary travelers. All signs of the sun which had hung high just hours ago were gone and now the moon took its place on the throne in the sky surrounded by stars as royal subjects. The pale circle gleamed, lighting the way for the group as they sought a place to stay for the night. On an on the road seemed to go, winding and stretching into the distance for all eternity. Lancelot grew tired of riding and was quite relieved when they decided to stop. The group finally decided to settle in a little rocky outcropping on the edge of the forest. It was not the safest nor the wisest place to stay but it would have to do for the time being. Looming trees surrounded them on three sides while a steep drop lay only meters away on the fourth. Dismounting, the boy looked around cautiously. There was something unnerving about this place, perhaps it was because of the ominous creaking trees or simply because he was away from home by himself for the first time. The others had already begun unpacking as one member of the group knelt by a pile of wood, intent on starting a fire. Incoherent speech came from the men as they went about their business then gathered by the fire, which was being tended carefully by the man who had so mechanically reminded Lancelot to 'learn to keep up'. Naturally, he longed to break the silence but was at a loss of words.  
"What do you say to a knight?" He asked himself as he began to take what belongings he had brought off of the horse's back. Shy? No, definitely not. Unfamiliar? Perhaps a little but that was only normal. After he got everything situated, he approached the group which was huddled around a brilliant bonfire. He had barely sat down when one of the men, whom he had never talked to, offered him a drink of water.  
"Are you thirsty?" The man simply said, holding up a pouch made of fine pelt. Lancelot held out a hand and the man tossed him the water which messily spilled over a bit when it hit the ground.  
"Thank you." He said, taking a sip. Shocked by how cold the water was, he quickly pulled back and wiped off his mouth with a sleeve. Not wanting to spill anymore, he leaned across the circle and handed it back. For the first time, he began to take notice of the group. All of the men had short, close-cropped hair save two who had slightly longer hair. Their faces were somewhat caked with dirt that clung to them because of the little beads of sweat that streamed down their cheek. Every one of them wore armor of some sort and had a sword near by or worn closely at their waist. A man with a gaping cut across left arm saw him studying the sword that lay at his feet.  
"Ever leaned to use a sword boy?" He questioned, resting his chin on a hand.  
"No sir." Lancelot replied truthfully. He had little lessons here and there from his father in sword play but never anything serious.  
"Well you're going to spend a lot of time doing just that." The man chortled. "Nothing to worry about young man, it goes a lot faster than they say." The circle broke out in a few chuckles then quiet down.  
"Your sword is the first thing you see when you wake up and it's usually the last thing you see before you go to bed. And it's going to be like that for the next fifteen years." Another man added. This time there was complete silence as if something brought back a terribly memory. They remained still until Lancelot finally spoke.  
"Well, you can be thankful that you're almost out of your misery then." He remarked at last. At that, the group erupted with laughter. Comments were thrown about and amidst the commotion, the man sitting next to him pounded him on the back.  
"To the boy!" the man said raising a bowl of water in a toast, "May your years pass quickly and may you live to see the end!"  
"To the boy!" The rest of the group chorused as they drank to Lancelot who couldn't help smirking. There they stayed for quite some time talking and laughing under the night sky. It remained so until someone returned with wild fowl slung over one shoulder. The men applauded as they roasted the birds over the open flame. A wonderful smell filled the air as the meat cooked and was later split amongst them. Hungry from a day of travel, Lancelot gladly accepted the food that was put in front of him. Though there was not much to go around, each man had his fill. Savoring the flavor, he picked every bone clean. Things went very well for the awkward feeling he had early on began to go away. The tight group reminded him of how people used to gather in the village and share the spoils of their hard work. However, this was his life now so he forced the thought from his mind and focused on the moment. Before he could realize it, it was hours past sun down and the cold of the coming winter was upon them. To his surprise, the puddle of water that had spilled earlier was now a think layer of ice. Shivers went down his spine as he inched subconsciously toward the fire.  
"It's getting cold." The man who brought back the fowl remarked as he reached to draw his cloak in tighter.  
"I wouldn't be surprised if it were early morning now. I should like to get a bit of rest before we head off." Someone said. The entire group's attention was now turned to what was to be done.  
"I'll take first watch." The man with the cut volunteered. Grateful that he could now sleep safely, Lancelot began to walk back to where he'd left his horse but was hit with freezing wind as he put distance between himself and the fire. "Don't worry about that." The man said laying a tarp on the ground, "You can sleep here if you'd like." With little warm clothing on his back, Lancelot completely let go of the idea of being strong and took the offer. He quickly fetched his own blanket and settled down by the fire. The knights did not look down on him for that as all would agree, winter was coming on and no one could resist a little warmth. So he lay down on the uneven rock and closed his eyes. The sense of adventure had not worn off and he found it difficult to sleep at first. Even so, the sound of the wind ruffling the falling leaves was rather soothing. He paid no heed to the surroundings for he new he was safe. With his blanket over him and the flame crackling near by, Lancelot drifted off into a dreamless sleep. 


	2. Fog and Hoof Beats

Note: Sorry for the long delay and thank you all for your great support and reviews! The story will move along quicker once the characters are introduced though I think I should keep it in Lancelot's point of view. If you have any suggestions/compliments, do review. Thankyou!  
  
Chapter 2- Fog and Hoofbeats  
  
Cold. The sky was far darker than it was the day before. Grey and dull white replaced vibrant blue as if a canvas had been splattered with murky water. It was an accurate reflection of the emotions surrounding the camp. There was little conversation, if any, though the men were awake at the crack of dawn. What humor and feelings they had the previous night seemed to have vanished into thin air. The bonfire had withered down into a few warm embers tucked away in a black mound of ash and charcoal. Lancelot was the only one still asleep. He was curled up peacefully exactly where they had left him with one hand clinging to a thin blanket. Eyes still shut, he shivered as the wind blew through his dark curls. Sounds of clinking mail and heavy foot steps reached his ears as his eyes flew open. Furrowing his brow, Lancelot strained to remember what had happened last night. To his surprise, he couldn't remember, he must have been too tired. Getting up, he let out a long breath which turned into white smoke before him.  
  
"You're awake, good." A knight with long wavy hair said, taking notice of the boy, "We'll be off soon so you ought to get ready." Nodding wearily, he trudged off towards the cliff. Looking over the edge, he saw a sea of ghastly fog. The ground at the bottom of the cliff was no where to be seen, explaining some of the frustrated expressions on their faces. That would surly make their journey harder. Lancelot whistled for his horse but instead, an awful sputtering sound came out. His lips were frozen as he could not feel them when he bit down. Surprisingly, the black horse came and nudged his hand with its nose. He patted the loyal animal as he took its reins and began to put his things back onto it. Fearing that it was cold, he threw the blanket he had slept on onto its back. With nothing for himself, he began to search through his belongings for a cloak of some sort but to his dismay, came out empty-handed. The man who offered him a drink previously, walked up behind him and draped a cape around his shoulders.  
  
"We don't have time to eat. If you are ready, we'll be on our way." He said monotonously. Thanking him, Lancelot climbed on his horse and trotted over to join everyone else. They all seemed dreadfully tired and not in the spirit to talk though he couldn't help asking one question.  
  
"Where are we going?" he asked putting the inquiry out there should one of them want to answer it though he was not expecting such.  
  
"We're keeping to the westward course across the mountains. Then turning southward across the plains." The long haired knight replied. Satisfied with the response he received, he watched as the last of the group rode toward them. After making a few final checks, they were off.  
  
Bleak weather pressed down on them, clouds showing no sign of giving way to an inviting ray of sunshine. As far as they could see, there lay no break in their downcast surroundings. The morning was a dull one. Rhythmic beating of the horses' feet against the rock was the only constant sound occasionally interrupted with a sneeze or cough. Contrary to legendary stories, this voyage of chivalrous knights seemed unhindered and almost effortless. Lancelot rode absentmindedly trying pass off the boredom that came over him as they passed landscapes that appeared to be the same to him over and over. The mist had lifted only slightly thus contributing to the redundantly pale view. His stomach was empty and began to ache for food after all, he was a growing boy. Noting that, the man who had prodded him while he was watching the sunset raised his arm signaling a stop.  
  
"I think we'd all benefit from a short break." suggested the man. Though he would greatly appreciate a stop, Lancelot hardly wanted his hunger to be the reason. Since when had that man become his personal minder? What to do, when to do it. He could easily be mistaken as being weak or lazy though he knew he was neither. As much as he wanted to at the moment, he could not control what odd noises came from his stomach.  
  
"Aye!" someone agreed. It gave him a little comfort knowing that he wasn't the sole person wishing for a quick rest. Like him, they were restless. Though they were at opposite sides of the road, both the beginning and end of the journey were taking its toll on them. Grumbling voices mixed with the repetitive pounding as they came to a disorganized halt. A man did not follow suit but rode off ahead into the smog. Lancelot was rather taken aback by the man's actions and moved to alert the rest who did not seem the least bit concerned.  
  
"He's just scouting, nothing to be worried about." One of the long haired knights told him. Raising his eyebrows, he indicated that he understood. Still curious, he approached the man who was noticeably more attentive and in a better mood than he was at daybreak.  
  
"Are the trips always this easy? Or am I just at the wrong place, well, right place at the right time?" he queried casually. The man laughed as he stood next to him.  
  
"Eager for action are you?" he scoffed, "It's not all smooth sailing you know." Lancelot watched as the man kicked the ground for no apparent reason other than to relieve anger as a frown quickly replaced the composed look he retained. "Well," the man began, eyes still fixed upon the dirt, "We won't have such luck for much longer." Confused, he stared at the now uneasy figure who reached down to part the already short grass.  
  
"What is it?" he asked hastily. Looking up, the man locked gazes with the boy.  
  
"Woads." He had spoken the name so bitterly that Lancelot could quickly infer that there have been many mishaps and conflicts with them. Crouching, he now saw little dents of a fresh foot print in the divided grass.  
  
"Woads?"  
  
"Woodland folk." The knight described, a resentful grin upon his lips. "Savage people they are. They hide behind their plants with bows and spears, fleeing when the battle goes ill. Despicable." Listening intently, Lancelot caught on to his every word with great interest. What had been brought to his attention made him question weather or not it was prudent to delay. He could not help but notice that there were thick forests creeping upon on their heels. "The Woads are led by a powerful shaman, Merlin they call him. People believe that one who comes across him will not return alive for they are cursed. But I do not fear him nor his cheap incantations." his companion spat.  
  
"You've seen him?" he asked excitedly. Smiling, the man ruffled the boy's hair.  
  
"No but it would not help to be afraid. Do not fret, we all keep an eye peeled for him, you should too." Getting up, the man walked away. Though it was not good news that they were in fact in Woad territory, the conversation had not bothered Lancelot. Rather excited and forgetting about the lack of food, he watched as the messy haired knight warned the others about their discovery.  
  
"Move out!" a voice called. Once everyone, except the scout, regrouped and were accounted for, they starated down the still unclear path. The form of a man on a horse materialized in the ever dense fog a few moments later. Grips tightened on sword hilts and eyes narrowed. A low, bird like call sounded notifying the cautious group that it was friendly. Tension relaxed a bit. The white curtain divided as the scout rode towards them, recounting his finds.  
  
"It seems to be fairly safe. No obvious traps though a few twigs and greens were disturbed in a small out clearing a few leagues ahead. The fog is lifted but only slightly." He recited falling in with the rest of them. Relieved by the good report, they continued on in high spirits.  
  
As the morning waned and noon drew closer, the sun still hid its bright face behind the clouds. The air was moist much to the liking of many insects which flew biting and stinging. Without giving so much as a thought, they'd land wherever they please getting into beards, shirts, and other such places. Occasionally, a horse would buck uncomfortably as a pesky gnat would find its way up its nose. Like them, those they carried on their backs were equally bothered. Even the most tolerant of the group could not help swatting at them as they flew by. Lancelot suddenly broke out in a hacking cough when something shot into his mouth. The knights turned their heads and saw him choking on a fly that went down the wrong way. The man with the gash on his limb stopped gave him a drink. He took it and downed it in gulps. When the cough finally subdued, he looked up and let out a groan. As he prepared to keep going, something caught his gaze. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a shape moving behind the trees. He stopped in his tracks, unmoving trying to find the shape again. It had been so sudden he questioned weather or not he saw it. Seconds later something sped by as he spun around to catch it. Nothing. Now, he was sure there was something lurking.  
  
"Lancelot?" someone asked. He didn't bother to turn to see who it was and held a finger gesturing for the person to wait. Silence. The rest of the group seemed to have picked up on what he was feeling. Searching the area, they looked and listened for the slightest movement. After a long while, things seemed ordinary as they kept going. Suddenly, a horse's leg scratched a rope cleverly hidden in the grass, springing a fence made of sharp stakes out of the ground.  
  
The creature reared in terror as war cries rang out from an indecisive direction. Ghostly outlines appeared as the things got closer. Drawing their swords quickly, the knights created a circle facing outward. Lancelot was left the odd one out with no weapon to defend himself with. Arrows rained down though the mist as the group met the shouts with their own. Shields at the ready, a few of the men kicked their horses hard and rode off yelling in the direction from which the arrows came. Soon he could clearly see the enemy. Agile men wearing little or no protective covering carrying bows and light daggers ran towards them with great zeal. One of the knights stayed by his side to his disappointment as he hated the thought of needing protection. Lancelot could not help feeling rather excited. So these were the infamous Woads. Though they had no where near as much equipment, they were swift and persistent, unexpectedly flooding the field. The group was outnumbered. Wildly tattooed men leaped and slashed at the horses which neighed as deep cuts were inflicted. Their riders swung at the crowd of men forming at their feet. A lone warrior drew a bow taking aim a knight who was preoccupied with his vicious aggressors. The bowstring twanged and an arrow flew out. Thrill became terror as Lancelot saw the arrow hit its mark. Wincing with pain, the knight was knocked off his horse and collapsed on the ground. His eyes widened in horror as he watched, unable to help, the Woads swarmed to the fallen knight like a pack of ravenous wolves. With what strength the man had, he continued to ward off as many as he could manage with the excruciating pain he had to endure. It looked as if it took great effort just to swing the sword aimlessly with a shaky hand. Distracted, Lancelot did not notice as a club came down upon his head. A burning sensation shot through him as he fell off his horse and into the surprised Woad who had delivered the blow. Overcome with a sense of determination, he hauled himself up and proceeded to punch out his attacker. His head spun and his vision clouded, they could not win this fight on their own. Feeling faint and disoriented, he stumbled over a body already half buried in the mud. With one ear against the soil, he heard a distant rumbling. The earth trembled beneath his fingers as something, something big was coming towards them. If it were more Woads, this would surely be the end of his short expedition. Tilting up his head, he saw that his devoted horse had not left. Standing on its hind legs, it kicked out violently with its front stamping and chasing after any who approached its master. Lancelot wrapped his hand around one stirrup, pulled himself onto the horse and rode to the aid of the man overwhelmed by the enemy.  
  
Now, he recognized the distant rumbling as hoof-beats. To his relief, the figures racing to the battle were allies. Men clad heavy armor with flowing red capes that trailed behind. Swords flailing, the army broke the lines of the Woads easily. They were well trained soldiers, cutting their way though the masses making neat paths to reach the wounded. Still standing alone, Lancelot watched as they expertly fought though one of them stood out. There was one rider, he was not clumsy but did not seem as skilled as the rest. He sat on the back of a stunning white stallion which he guided with one hand for in the other; he wielded a great sword fit for a king. Intrigued, he continued to watch the Knight who sliced awkwardly at the Woads, one of which slipped behind him unnoticed preparing to shoot an arrow. Though unarmed, Lancelot still had his wits about him. Jerking his horse, he made a sharp turn towards the pickets that had blocked their way. As he passed by, he reached down and grasped a post, tearing it straight out. Taking the stick, he dragged it against the ground sweeping the bewildered men off their feet. With a great leap, he jumped off his steed feet first disarming the aiming archer. The arrow whisked by the knight who turned around to see him struggling with the Woad.  
  
"Watch out!" he warned steering his horse in Lancelot's direction. The boy reacted quickly and brought the pole backwards into someone's side. As he stepped out of the way, the Knight swung his blade cutting the man's arm clean off. Howling in pain, the woad sprinted away from the scene. Astounded by the close encounter, Lancelot did not dare to stop moving. He could not tell friend from foe now as the fight wore on. Working together, the two made safe some of the injured knights. They fought for their friends, and for their lives. Soon, the enemy realized that they were hanging on to a loosing battle and reluctantly retreated into the mist. Bodies littered the field and a foul stench of blood and decomposing flesh hung fresh in the thick humid air. Breathing heavily, Lancelot crumpled to the ground, exhausted. It had all happened so fast, he hardly had any memory of what happened. Groans of wounded knights being tended were audible from where he was though he was simply too tired to find them. Reaching up to wipe sweat of his brow, his fingers came in contact with a pool of blood. He had been hurt but he wasn't in such a terrible condition. Sighing, he looked around for his black horse for he had packed a few things that would be of use when dressing cuts. Spotting him, Lancelot attempted to get up but immediately fell over. Suddenly, the knight whom he helped appeared and helped him up.  
  
"You did well out there. Thank you." The man said. For the first time, the boy realized that the knight was not that much older than he was. The helmet and armor had concealed his boyish features. He had short deep brown hair, emerald colored eyes, and a grin that spread from ear to ear.  
  
"You too." Lancelot complimented. His skills were remarkable for someone his age so the comment had come easily. What elegance he lacked was perfectly justified as he was not yet fully trained.  
  
"What is your name?" the boy asked with a friendly open nature.  
  
"Lancelot, yours?"  
  
"Arthur."  



	3. A New Found Friend

Note: It has been slow going and again, thank you all for your support and patience. Thanks to Freakazoid for the correction and Szhismine for the suggestion. Thanks to everyone who gave such inspiring reviews and I hope this chapter is worth your wait.

Chapter 3- New Found Friend

Corpses of Woads were scattered across the once clear and flourishing plain. The mess and the murky weather made for an impossible maze through the foggy battle field. Muttering of knights tending their scabs and scratches was the only audible noise for miles round. It hadn't been a confrontation in their favor, amazingly there had been no casualties on their side. Had reinforcements not arrived when they did, many would not be alive. Lancelot and his new found companion weaved in and out carefully trying not to disturb the dead. Already, as if they knew each other very well, the boys walked together in a perfect rhythm. Following the mumbles, they met up with the melancholy crowd. At a glance, Lancelot could see that some of them had been terribly maimed. Bloodied limbs were not uncommon. Cringing at the sight of war and the absolutely repulsive smell, he glared the young man at his side who didn't seem to be troubled by it and appeared fairly cheerful.

"Arturious!" a large man wrapped in red cloth shouted, holding up his sword. "Well done. Still breathing eh? Haha!" Auturious? That was certainly a name he'd never heard of. Awfully suspicious he wondered if the man had meant Arthur. He turned to ask when the beaming boy put a hand on his shoulder. Forced to hold his tongue, he held back and looked to the man who happily bounded toward them.

"I'd be here in bits and pieces if it weren't for Lancelot's work also." Arthur told the man, nudging him forward. Maintaining eye contact, he nodded politely. Though he felt he was not deserving of such credit, a bit of him was pleased. It was a very generous action on Arthur's part and for that he was thankful.

"Lancelot! Two future knights. Wonderful." The man yelled gleefully looking as if he had just left from a grand feast instead of a skirmish. "Sarmatian aren't you?" he asked examining the boy and noticing his way of dress. Peculiar question.

"Yes Sir." Lancelot said proudly. Chuckling heartily, the man took one of them in each arm and sat them down. He provided them with a bit of clean water to wash in and strolled off.

Pouring some water on his hands, Arthur rubbed them vigorously then passed the container to Lancelot who looked disapprovingly at his own. Dirt had embedded itself underneath his cracked fingernails. Both palms were swollen and blistered with a large scrape on one of them. Although they looked terrible, it wasn't that bad. Rinsing gently, he saw that his cuts were healing.

"How long have you been serving?" Arthur asked him.

"I left two days ago." He answered shaking off access water.

"Two days only? Very impressive, what you did today." Arthur said amused.

"Nothing compared to you." Lancelot said returning the praise. Now that the jolly man had walked off, he thought it was a good time to pose the question that he had suppressed earlier. "How long since you left?" He asked slowly, not knowing what to expect.

"I never left," Arthur answered, "I'm Roman." Romans, the very people who had indebted generations of his people to fight for a country that was not theirs. Rather, the people who had taken their land from them. The city that spilled the blood of fathers and sons. He could be angry but at this moment, none of it really mattered. Judging from what he'd seen, this boy was different. He had a gift which demanded respect, yet he was very kind. They could be rivals but Lancelot wanted to be friends and it seemed they had both reached that conclusion.

"Well I'm glad you came to save me from certain death." He said at last.

"You're very welcome." his friend said, on the edge of laughter.

At that instant, a bolt of lightning shot across the sky. The low growl of thunder followed. Drops of rain began to fall lightly on the ground.

"Well that was certainly a waste of clean water." Lancelot commented putting down the empty container as a fresh droplet splashed on his nose. The gloomy day had stretched on and finally the clouds burst. The pattering of single raindrops falling here-and-there grew into a roaring downpour. Staring ahead, he stayed motionless as rain dribbled into puddles forming at his feet. His fatigue seemed to be swept away along with the grime. With every breeze, his sprit got lighter.

"It'll be a shame to waste this too." Arthur said tipping his head skyward, "Come on." With that, Arthur got and dashed off. Mud spattered as they ran sloppily through the wet marshland. Not a care in the world, Arthur sought the largest puddles and leapt in. Unable to stop in time, Lancelot flung out his hands and turned away. A fantastic spray of muck drenched the pursuing boy who now stood with sludge plopping off.

"You want to get me? Going to have catch me first." Arthur taunted as he took off. Shaking his head mischievously, Lancelot darted after. Bridging the gap between them, he sprung over the obstacles as they sped away from the company of knights. Stealing a quick peak, Arthur saw him at his heels and tensed up. Searching frantically, he gave a shrill whistle. A vaporous silhouette cantered out of the haze. Pale and entirely blended into the pallid backdrop, all that could be seen of the ethereal horse was but a little round black marble bobbing in midair. Without breaking stride, Arthur seized its mane and climbed on as it passed by. Dangling over, he grabbed a portion of a frayed cord and whipped the animal, encouraging it to go faster.

Not about to give up so willingly, Lancelot summoned his own steed whose shady coat contrasted against the ashen scenery. Also getting on with ease, they were now on a fair terms. Romping merrily, the two were persistent on knocking the other off with the most inventive of means. Looking faint, he acted as if he were all of the sudden becoming ill, drawing Arthur's attention. Face riddled with concern, Arthur hurried over. "Are you alright?" he asked, all ideas of the game out of his mind. Lancelot brought his elbow back hoping to strike him in response to his serious attitude but instead makes contact with nothing but air.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, waving madly trying to retain his balance. Taking advantage of this, Arthur broke away then doubled back to deliver a punch. Within seconds after recovering his stability, Lancelot leaned backward as the blow whisked by, missing him by a hair. His vision was blurred with a watery film stretched over his eyes making him nearly blind as to where everything was. They scuffled with great liveliness as the stinging rain constantly pelted them. After a drawn out competition, neither prevailed but both were plastered with mud and soaked to the bone.

"We'll call it even." Arthur suggested as they slowed brisk walk. The rain had tapered off, letting the sun have its few moments as it descended. They were far away from the rest now. Here, it was serene. Not even the slightest inkling that there had been gruesome battle near by.

"No chance." Lancelot said snickering.

"Oh come now, I've only stopped because of you! Look at you, you're a mess! You're slouching and your hair! No, no, no my good Lancelot, were you not so tired I would be able to go on for hours easily." Arthur shot back.

"I could hold out just as long as you could." He answered even though he knew he was exhausted. What he wanted more than anything at the moment was to be able to lie down on a soft cot and sleep to his hearts content. Muscles were sore and bones ached, but no one needed to know that.

"Alright, we'll finish it later but can we just watch the sunset?" said Arthur who was equally drained. "Breath-taking isn't it?" They surveyed the fiery, orange dusk in silence. For the first time since he left, Lancelot thought of home. It would be supper time now, everyone would meet for a meal and spectacular tales. He'd often sit spellbound with his mouth wide open in awe as elders tailored brilliant stories before him. As much as he tried his hand at making up a story of his own, they were never any good. When he does return, he would almost certainly have something to share. Hardly two days have gone and he has had exhilarating experiences enough to last a life-time.

"Fine"

The sun had long since gone when they sauntered back to rest of the group. An improvised camp had been set up complete with a small tent. Things were tidied up though all were still groggy. Soldiers huddled around chatting away about something that was out of an earshot. Their arrival went overlooked even as they got off their horses and set them to graze. Joining the throng, they started to pick up on the conversation.

"We should be expecting more people round dawn."

"That reminds me, how did you find us here?" said one of Lancelot's escorts

"What worries me is that, it's not the first time we've come across those Woads. They've attacked us once before. We were tracking them on our way to Hadrian's Wall and they led us to you." A Roman officer replied.

"What are they doing south of the wall in the first place?" another yelled

"My guess is that they want something and they're not about to give up."

It was without doubt disheartening news. What could an insignificant portion of an army possibly have that was of value to them? If the guess was right, it would no doubt make their trip that much more arduous. Lancelot's imagination got the best of him as he pictured what they wanted and what they would do to get it. Trying to repress the notion, he sought Arthur who was beside him but was now nowhere in sight. He walked around in no particular direction half hoping that he'd run into Arthur and half hoping that he could just go and doze off. He found the boy kneeling under a pine tree murmuring.

"I thank thee for guiding us through the peril so that we may live to appreciate all you give us..." Creeping up quietly, he waited. "..Thank you also for sending my friend, Lancelot, and I ask that you to protect him." Arthur said as if he sensed his presence. He held his breath in shock not wanting to disturb him. Who was he talking to? There was no one there, or at least that he could see. When Arthur stood up, Lancelot asked him what he was doing at this hour under a tree. "Praying." Arthur said dusting himself off.

"To whom?"

"To god." Oh yes, the famous God. Now why didn't he think of that? Maybe it's because he doesn't exist. He thought resentfully.

"And does it ever work?" He snapped

"Of course it does." Arthur answered calmly, he understood why Lancelot was so mad.

"Well not for me." Angrily kicking the dirt, he knew that he shouldn't be acting like that but he couldn't help it.

"Lancelot, I do not question your beliefs."

"You don't but your people do!" He interrupted

"But I ask you not to question mine." Arthur continued firmly. This was the earliest of many quarrels that would eventually take them to a level of friendship that would make them inseparable. Religion would ever be a dispute for as long as it lasts. Putting up his hands and shaking his head, Lancelot unwillingly apologized.

"Alright, I'm sorry. I don't like anything that puts a man on his knees." He concluded. Becoming milder, Arthur grinned.

"It's ok. Now let's get some sleep shall we? I think we can both say that we're tired."

"I'm not tired." Lancelot said, mid-yawn as they plodded back towards the camp.

* * *

Note: Sorry! I though I'd give them a chance to get to know each other so I didn't bring in anyone new this chapter but I'll promise some for the next one. Thank you all! Best. 


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